One More Regret
by Mrs. James Norrington
Summary: Bookbased. There is a memory that comes to mind when he looks at her, a memory of another face, another time, of soft lovers’ words murmured in his own language... Sometimes the words we most regret are the words we never say. Van HelsingMina.


**A/N:** My first Dracula fanifc; a bit odd and wildly OOC, I know. Born of an idea I simply couldn't get out of my head... Takes place on November 6 because I noticed there was no entry for or mention of that day...

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**One More Regret**

"Are you married, Professor?"

"I am. And I was," he replies laconically.

She does not understand his response, but does not press further; perhaps he thought the question too forward. He continues, however, without prompting; rising and turning away from her, lost in his own thoughts.

"My son's death drove her insane, killing her soul without her body." He pauses, as if each word ages him another year. "And I… I am left with a memory of her." A memory of dark hair and a radiant smile. A memory that, with every passing moment grows paler in his mind, being replaced, slowly but surely, with grim reality.

Mina steps toward him through the snow, suddenly ashamed of herself for asking, sensing her own memories like bits of shattered glass inside her. She touches his shoulder gently, feeling her own throat tighten.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried…"

"It was a long time ago." He dismisses her apology, half-apologetic himself.

He turns abruptly as she sinks to the ground behind him.

"Madam Mina?" He kneels, peering anxiously into her face.

"I'm being ridiculous, I know." She closes her eyes, but is unable to stop the hot tears from escaping. She cries, it seems, at the smallest upset these days. "I was only thinking of Jonathan after his fever… of the times when he didn't seem to know me… and just as he was beginning to grow well… I wonder if I shall ever see him again!" She slumps like a tired child, reaching appreciatively for the reassuring hand on her shoulder.

There is a memory that comes to mind when he looks at her, a memory of another face, another time, of soft lovers' words murmured in his own language.

His fingertips trail gently down her cheek, following the path of the tears, speaking, with a single caress, words he cannot voice in any tongue. Eyes still closed, she seems not to notice as his thumb brushes over her lips in altogether too intimate a gesture, as it traces the sharp line of her jaw with a kind of mute longing. Or perhaps, she simply chooses not to notice, to avoid giving thought to something that will bring nothing but pain for both of them. Perhaps she has always chosen not to notice; not the fervor with which he presses his lips to her hand, not how long they linger there, against her skin, not the way he draws away from her, eyes dazzled, lips burning, as if he had kissed the sun.

A winter sun now, he notes, the glow of summer fading from her cheeks, her face pale against the fallen snow. The tears have finished, but her eyes remain closed, her breathing slow and even.

"Don't stop." Her whisper is so faint that he wonders if he imagined it, if he had simply wished it into being. But she does not pull away as his hand moves to stroke her hair, their faces now so close that he feels her every sigh on his own lips. Her hair… he knows every strand, dark satin beneath his fingers. It is pinned up now, but he remembers the way it tumbles over her shoulders as she brushes it. He knows, with fondness, the single lock that always seems to escape its confines and fall just over her eye. Perhaps she suddenly feels uncomfortable, for she reaches up to brush it away. His left hand stops her as his right places the strand behind her ear. He kisses her fingertips- for the twentieth, fiftieth, or hundredth time he knows not.

Her own hand rises. It pauses a hairsbreadth from his chest, hovering there, as if unsure whether to draw him closer or shove him away. She opens her eyes slightly, yet seeing him so near seems to reassure rather than disconcert her.

"Will I die, Professor?" she whispers, a sob hidden in her words. She turns her face from him, conscious of the red scar on her forehead, conscious of what her death will mean.

"No." He cannot answer her further, but the emotion in the single word of his answer surprises him, making him aware, as if for the first time, how much he cares for her.

Wide green eyes meet his, taken aback, no doubt, by the fervor of his reply. She closes them as he touches her face again, tenderly, as she lets the tears flow for the second time. "I'm afraid, Professor… Dear God, I'm so afraid…"

"As am I… Mina." Let him say her name once; let him be just once unfettered by the trappings of formality, of propriety. Closing the slight distance between them, he kisses her softly on the lips, almost imperceptibly. She tenses briefly against him, then slowly relaxes in his arms as if she feels safe there. If only he could protect her from all the evils of the world, simply by wishing them away… How trusting she is- even now- and how very, very young…

"I apologize, Madam." He moves gently away from her, turning his face. He cannot bear to look at her, a married woman, with a husband who will, God-willing, share years and memories with her. How different things might have been, if only…

"I apologize," he repeats, succinctly.

"Do you regret it?" There is an emotion in her words he cannot place.

"Yes." He is able to meet her eyes at last. Her face is as impassive as his own. "Yes," he murmurs again, beginning to reach for her, but forcing himself to draw back. After all, what is one more regret?

"Come," he says more loudly. "Rest now. I think it would be best if we do not speak of this."

After a long moment, she nods, pressing his hand briefly before hurrying away. He sits in silence, keeping watch, searching the night for things he knows he will not find.

In the stillness, he can hear her crying quietly. He does not go to comfort her again that night. He has tears of his own to shed.

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Questions? Comments? Curses of my very existance? Send them this way, by all means. :)


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